


Lurking In the Shadows

by Sonsoflibertea



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon-Typical Violence, Graphic Description, Homophobic Language, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Torture, Violence, alternate timeline-Owen isn't a spy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2020-09-02 07:15:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20272051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonsoflibertea/pseuds/Sonsoflibertea
Summary: Curt keeps a lot of secrets. That's the life of a secret agent, and he was damn good at it.And then there was Owen. No one knew about Owen. If anyone found out about their love... they could lose everything.And, god, did Curt love Owen. Every day, he dealt with the dangers of his work knowing that he was making the world a safer place for him. He was keeping Owen safe.So what happens when, one day, he fails?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So. 
> 
> Curt's still a spy, and he and Owen have been together for years. Owen isn't a spy. He's just a professor of Ethnography at a nearby college.
> 
> This is my first fic in literally years, so. Enjoy I guess? And constructive criticism is appreciated. Seriously. Rip my work to shreds. I want to get better at this.

Curt had just gotten back from a perilous mission in rural Guatemala, and he was feeling  _ good _ . 

He had single handedly taken out seven armed guards, saved two hostages from impending death, and even come across an encoded document likely containing the transaction history of the entire syndicate. And all without getting himself killed, too. Just another day in the life of one of the world’s best spies.

Walking the halls of the office, he crossed his fingers and hoped that, with a victory this clean, he might even be able to convince his boss to offload his paperwork on some intern. God, he hated paperwork. And, usually, he hated meetings with Cynthia Houston. But, today, the usual apprehension he felt when entering her office was nowhere to be found. He sat down and leaned back in his chair. Houston offered him a shot of celebratory whiskey, but he declined. It was too good a day to get poisoned.

Curt tapped his foot under the table while Cynthia droned on about logistics. He decided the meeting wasn’t worth paying attention to, and let his mind drift to what he would do after he left the office. Owen didn’t teach any afternoon classes at the university today, so he would probably already be home by now, sitting on the couch with a cup of tea.

Curt wanted to celebrate. He would need a good cover story, but what better time to formulate one than now, as Director Houston rambled on about some new stealth tactic? 

As far as Owen knew, Curt was a low-level officer in the United States Army. This cover worked pretty well--outside of active war time, being an army officer was basically an office job. But, with the Cold War on, it was a busy office job, one that would involve some travel, so Curt didn’t have to do too much explaining when he would suddenly have to catch a flight to Sao Paulo or Stockholm. And, whenever he found himself with a minor injury, he could explain it away as a mishap in a training exercise. 

He would call Owen as soon as this boring meeting was over. He could tell him that he had been selected to lead a minor training operation, something involving Russian bomb threats.  _ Yeah, that would work. I’m sure the army is constantly preparing for the nuclear apocalypse nowadays.  _ And maybe he’d throw in that this position came with a modest raise? After all, he would be getting a small pay bump for his “bravery and dedication” for running back into the compound today and saving those hostages. They had been hidden in a back closet, and Curt had almost left without knowing they were there, but he had heard a scraping sound right as he was about to make a run for the rendezvous point. 

_ Perfect. This plan’ll work. Owen’s gonna be so proud. _

He was shaken out of his daydreaming when the office door behind him opened. Curt tilted his head down to hide his eye-roll and pinched the bridge of his nose. Houston  _ hated _ when people came in without knocking, and when people interrupted her meetings. She always blamed her annoyance on issues with confidentiality, but Curt knew by now that it was just an irrational pet peeve of hers. She would surely lecture this guy for 20 minutes or more, and Curt would have to just sit there and wait. 

Cynthia stood up, her anger already evident in a vein popping out on her forehead. “What the flippity  _ FUCK  _ is important enough that you had the AUDACITY to just walk in here--”

“I’m sorry, Miss Houston, but it’s important. Agent Mega, there is a man on the phone, asking for you. He says he has your friend. I think we’re dealing with a hostage situation. Do you know an Owen Carvour?”

Later, Curt would be ashamed to recall that first thought was,  _ holy shit, this guy just interrupted Cynthia Houston. She’s gonna rip him a new asshole.  _ He hadn’t even been listening to the substance of what the guy, some low-level operative, had been saying until he heard Owen’s name. But he would never forget the drop in his stomach, or the way his vision suddenly narrowed, when he heard the man say “Owen Carvour.”

Curt didn’t wait for instructions, or for Cynthia to dismiss him, or for more details on the situation. He was out of his chair and out of the room in a few short strides. Then he broke into a jog, and then a sprint, down the hallways of the CIA office and toward the main office, where he knew the phones were kept. He got a few stares when he got there and slammed open the door, but he didn’t care.

“ _ WHERE THE HELL IS OWEN _ ?”

…..

“Where the hell am I?”

It came out weaker than he intended. Owen had figured out by this point that something was really, really wrong. He had assumed at first that he was having another nightmare. But the ache in his head, the pull of the rope against his wrists… they were too real to have been conjured up by his subconscious. This was actually happening.

His legs were tied at the ankles and the knees to the legs of the metal chair in which he was sitting. His hands were knotted together behind his back, and, as he tested the strength of the rope, he found that they had been anchored to the back of the chair as well. There was yet another rope around his chest, pushing him into the chair’s back. He couldn’t quite turn his head enough to see into the space behind him, but, from what he could see, he figured he was in some sort of basement. Darkly lit, with a musty smell to it. 

There was no response to his question. He decided to try again.

“Is anybody here?”

“Shut up.”

Owen jumped at the voice coming from somewhere behind him. He had started to think he was alone down here. Or maybe he was. Had he imagined the voice? Or was it the stress and fear of finding himself here getting to him? Was he hallucinating?

He decided to try again. “I don’t know what you want, but, if it’s money, I don’t have any. Nor does anyone I’m close to. You won’t get much if you’re looking for ransom.”

The sound of metal on metal. A blade being sharpened?

“Shut the hell up. This isn’t about you.”

“Well, considering I’m the one tied to a chair in a dark room, I would say I’m certainly part of the picture.”

Owen could never stop talking when he was nervous. Before this, it had only been an issue in job interviews and while doing field research. He needed to follow this man’s orders and he knew it, but he just couldn’t help talking.

He only heard an annoyed sigh in response. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

Owen was used to throwing himself into uncomfortable situations with people he would consider… less than stable. It was what his research was focused on: conformity within deviant subcultures. Back before emigrating from the UK, he had voluntarily spent three months in prison, learning about the interpersonal dynamics that lead to the formation and growth of prison gangs. In the US, he had gone deep-cover for nearly 6 weeks with a drug cartel on the border (he had planned to stay longer, but he had accidentally dropped his fake American accent when startled by a sudden sound once, and they got suspicious enough that he had decided the research was no longer worth the risk and fled that night).

But, when he was in the field, he knew where he stood. If this had been an ethnography, he would have studied for weeks and months in advance, learning everything he could about a subculture before jumping in. He would know who he was dealing with, and why. And he certainly wouldn’t have let himself be tied to this fucking chair. 

Why the hell was he here? What did this man want with him? He was just a professor. Well-respected within his field, certainly, but his field was rather small. And even college professorships paid more in prestige than in actual money. His job wasn’t high-stakes or important, like…

...like Curt’s.

Oh, God, did Curt even know he was gone yet? He had no idea how long he’d been here. The thought of Curt coming home after a long day of work, and finding no trace of him… what would he think? Would he be okay?

A sudden thought. Curt worked for the army. Owen didn’t know exactly what he did, but he knew that Curt’s job was important enough that he was secretive about it. Curt trusted him more than anyone, and he  _ still  _ didn’t let many details of his work slip. Did this have to do with Curt and the army? Did his captor want government secrets? If that was the case, then Owen was maybe even more screwed than he thought. He really did have nothing to give this man. He and Curt were close, but Curt was remarkably good at changing the subject whenever his work came up.

Or, even worse, did someone know about him and Curt?

_ Shit, did someone know about him and Curt? _

Shit, shit, shit. Owen tested the ropes again as he felt his pulse quickening.  _ But we’ve always been so careful!  _ Owen’s listed address was a small apartment right off campus, and he had all of his mail delivered there. He travelled back and forth from “Curt’s” house only when it was dark and the streets were empty, waking up early every morning to drive back before sunrise. Whenever they went out, they kept everything entirely platonic, not even risking any whispered “I love you”s or hand-holds under the table. They kept their love at home, shut behind locked doors and soundproofed walls.

Had he slipped up? Had he put Curt in danger? Had he put  _ himself _ in danger? He was the one tied to a chair, after all.

He just couldn’t help it.

“Is this about Curt?”

Owen heard heavy footsteps behind him, and squirmed in his seat. 

“Curt Mega should have thought twice before sticking his nose into the business of Chimera. And I told you to shut up.”

“This is about Curt.”  _ Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. _

His head was spinning, trying to process. He was starting to feel thirsty, and that wasn’t helping the nausea that was creeping in. He barely noticed the movements of his captor until the man was right in front of him, his features unclear in the darkly lit room. Owen heard a small  _ rip,  _ and flinched as a piece of silver-grey duct tape was pressed firmly over his mouth. It was followed by a couple more pieces. Owen found himself effectively silenced, his only coping mechanism gone.

Nothing to do now but wait and worry.

…..


	2. Chapter 2

“Someone find Barb Lavernour and tell her to get over here. Tell her Curt needs her. I need Tatiana Slozhno listening in as well, so. Find her. And I need this room to myself. This is a pressing and high-clearance issue, and I doubt any of you have high enough clearance to be present for this call.”

Curt scanned the room, and located the phone on the back wall, the only one in the room not being used. The one that was his only current connection to Owen. He made his way toward it.

He stood by the phone for a few excruciating moments. The room was silent and still. He felt the eyes of about a dozen low-level office workers on him.

He snapped. “We’re dealing with a HOSTAGE SITUATION here; get off your asses!”

After another moment of silence, he heard from the back of the room, “Um, sir, we don’t have sufficient information or clearance to do… well. Any of that.”

“Well then, find someone who does and  _ get it done.  _ Unless you want the blood of an innocent man on your hands and the fury of Curt Mega to deal with.”

That seemed to spook them into action.  _ Finally. _ They all avoided Curt’s gaze. He gave a passing thought to whether he could trust them to get the job done, then pushed the thought aside and went back to focusing on Owen.

The young man who had interrupted Curt’s meeting with Cynthia finally caught up to Curt now, pushing his way through the bustle of the room. Curt motioned for him to come over to where he was standing, by the phone. He needed context. Location, warehouse layout, intel on Owen’s captor… anything that could help him help Owen. He hoped this man could give it to him.

“Please tell me you have some intel for me. Quick--I need to get on this call ASAP.”

The man seemed startled to be being addressed directly, as if he wasn’t used to being put on the spot. He stared at the floor for a moment as Curt mentally urged him to  _ get on with it already. _ Flustered, he shuffled some papers in his hands before seeming to find what he was looking for.

Reading from the paper, he said, “Only one hostage, as far as we can tell. Owen Carvour. a young professor. Here on a work visa--”

“Yeah. I know Owen. Info on the situation at hand.”

“Uh. Right, right.” Another shuffle of papers. “We haven’t managed to trace the call, but voice analysis indicated a likely match. Seems like we’ve dealt with this guy before. Male, with a thick but hard-to-place British accent. We don’t have a solid ID on him, but our records mention that he likes to call himself ‘The Deadliest Man Alive,’ so. That’s something.”

Curt nodded at the familiar alias. “I had a run-in with him a couple years ago in Berlin.”

“Well, maybe that’s why he’s targeted you.” He pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket. “What’s your relation to Owen Carvour? Any reason why Mr. Deadliest Man might have gone after him?”

Curt felt red rising to his cheeks. He sure as hell wasn’t going to deal with this now, not while Owen was in danger. He went on the defensive. “Who the hell are you to be interrogating me? Let the big boys do the detective work.”

That seemed to have its intended effect. The man went kind of pale, and stared down at his stack of loose papers. He flipped through them, avoiding Curt’s eyes. “Um. I think that’s all we’ve got. So. I’ll be going.”

Curt nodded, then turned away toward the phone. He heard the man shuffle away and out of the door. He was alone in the room now.

He reached out and grabbed the phone, not taking it off the receiver yet. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tuned out the rest of the world.

He had practice with this. What mattered right now was the mission. He had familiar patterns to fall back on, training and past missions. He could do this.

_ Okay, _ he thought, picking up the phone.  _ Time to be a spy. _

…..

Owen sat and waited as the man rummaged through a canvas bag and pulled out various scary-looking metal tools. He sat and waited as his wrists and ankles started to ache from the tight pull of the ropes. He sat and waited as the man picked up a phone on a table against the wall to his right. He heard the name ‘Curt Mega’ and wished he could scream out, ask for help, warn of danger, do anything besides sit and wait.

He could feel his pulse pounding in his head and chest, as well as where his blood flow was restricted by the ropes at his wrists and his ankles. God, it was fast. Too fast. He wondered if it was possible to pass out while seated, at least without massive blood loss.

He wondered if he was about to experience massive blood loss.

“I’m getting bored.” 

Owen was spooked out of his spiraling train of thought by his captor. The man was still standing over by the phone. Owen squinted into the darkness, and saw that he was tapping on the table. Something sharp.

“I was going to save the fun for when your dear friend Mega could join us. But it wouldn’t hurt to get a bit ahead of the game, would it?” Owen could barely process the words being spoken. He just knew he didn’t like them. “Show him we mean business. What do you think, professor?” The man’s tone was dark, and mockingly playful. He was still spinning the object--the weapon--around on his finger. 

Owen felt a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. He noticed that he was shaking. He couldn’t remember when he’d started to. He screamed against the inside of the gag, even knowing that it wouldn’t come out as anything but a muffled hum. That got a dark chuckle out of his captor.

“What’d you say, Carvour?” He leaned in toward Owen’s mouth, his hand cupped around his ear, close enough that Owen could feel the tickle of a few stray strands of his captor’s hair brush against his cheek. The man smelled like sweat and metal.

“I do value your opinion, Professor. So do go ahead and tell me if you don’t want me to try out this beauty.” 

Owen felt something cold press against his upper right arm. Without moving his head, he looked downward to try to see it. Then he wished he hadn’t.

The blade was about the size of a letter opener, though the metal was thinner. It came to a sharp point that glinted in the limited light. It looked sharp enough to cut through flesh like warm butter. But what really frightened him was that the edges of it were serrated. Like a sadistic steak knife, and he was the steak… he would laugh if it weren’t so real, so horrifying. A hundred tiny, sharp teeth, each one sharp enough that he could already feel it dig lightly into his skin through his shirt.

A roaring silence overtook the room. Owen closed his eyes, deciding that he would rather not know what was coming.

“Oh, good. We’re in agreement, then. Let’s get started.”

Owen felt the blade as it was turned, so that the sharp edges rested on the skin instead of the flat, cold metal surface.

Then, he felt a hundred tiny teeth rip his skin apart.

…..

_ Blood. Silenced screams. Laughter. Sweat. Pain. _

…..

Owen’s head spun. His legs shook. He kept his eyes shut tight, scared of what he would see if he opened them. The blood and sweat ran together, down his arms, down his torso, down his legs, down his forehead. The only word he could think of to describe the pain was  _ loud.  _ He couldn’t focus on anything else. He could distinctly feel each of the dozens of cuts up and down his body, each of them excruciating even on its own.

He tried to convince himself that it was fine, that he was somewhere else, that the blood dripping to the concrete floor was just the warm water of a shower falling over him, that the pain was just paper cuts, that he was home, that he was fine.

He couldn’t do it. It was just too much. God, he was terrified.

Then, through the haze of pain and blood loss, he heard something. Something new. It came from the phone, still sitting on the table by the wall, what felt like a world away.

“ _ WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO OWEN? _ ”

It was muffled by the phone, but he still heard it, clear as day. He clung to that voice like a lifeline.

It was Curt.

For a brief moment, the pain stopped.

…..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2... took me long enough. Thanks for reading, and, as always, any and all feedback is appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

“Oh, hello, Mega. So nice of you to join us.”

“Answer the question. Where is he?” Curt focused on keeping his voice steady and solid.

“_ Easy, _ Mega. You wouldn’t want to piss me off. I might just take out my frustration on my new little toy here.” The criminal’s voice was just _ dripping _with delight. Curt swore he could hear the sadistic fuck smiling through the phone. It made him feel sick.

“If you lay _ one fucking finger _ on him, I swear to God, I’ll put you through hell, _ Mister Deadliest Man Alive. _”

“It might be a little late for that.”

_ Shit. _ That wasn’t what he was hoping to hear. 

God, he just wanted to go off. He wanted to yell, to scream, to cuss this guy out, then to find him and tear him limb from limb. Instead, he closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. He had to block out the rage.

Or, better yet, save it. He would need it later.

_ Just another mission, _ Curt thought. _ Try to talk him down. _“I’m sure you’re familiar with the United States’s policy of negotiating with terrorists.”

“Yes, but I am also familiar with your agency’s history of breaking with that particular policy. Especially when _ innocent civilian lives _are on the line.” His words were punctuated by a scraping sound. Curt almost wished he wasn’t trained well enough to identify it, even over the phone, but he knew the sounds of a blade being sharpened all too well.

Curt remained silent, knowing he could get in trouble for confirming the Deadliest Man’s implication that the CIA had a habit of breaking this particular law. And, even if it weren’t true, Curt would never flat-out deny being willing to negotiate. That could get Owen killed.

The Deadliest Man Alive chuckled. “Feeling a little shy today, are we? Well, that’ll do fine. For now. But, if you ever want to see your little friend again, you’re going to have to get to talking sooner or later--”

“You’re not going to get a _ word _of intel from me until I get confirmation that Owen Carvour is alive.”

“Oh! How _ rude _ of me!” The Deadliest Man sounded unhinged. 

Owen was in the hands of a madman. Curt felt his stomach jump up into his throat. He pushed it back down.

“I haven’t reintroduced the two of you. Owen!” There was a pause, a shuffling of feet. “Say hi!”

Another pause. Then, Curt heard the familiar _ thump _ of skin on skin. 

Then a muffled cry that softened into a whimper.

The part of Curt that was a professional doing his job, the “World’s Greatest Spy” part of him, reacted to the sounds with data. _ Direct punch. Hollow sound; likely to the face. No _ crack _ of broken bone. Muffled reaction; the victim is likely gagged. _

But the part of Curt that was still human? That part of him belonged to Owen. He would know the sound of his love’s voice anywhere, even muffled and distorted through the phone. That part of Curt broke through the walls he had put up in the name of professionalism and practicality. Suddenly, that little whimper was all he could hear, all he could think about. It bounced and echoed around the inside of his skull, overlapping itself until it was deafening. _ Owen is hurting. Owen is unsafe. Owen is in danger. Owen needs me. _

He shoved the human part of himself down again.

Yes, Curt would know that voice anywhere, but he had to get himself under control. He needed information. He needed time. He needed to put his walls back up, long enough to get Owen back safely. He could break down once Owen was safe. There was no time for that now.

So he pretended not to know that voice. “That could be anyone. Hell, that could be an audio recording. Let me talk to Owen, and then, _ maybe, _ we can talk about intel.”

“Your reputation precedes you, Agent Mega. Stubborn, as always.”

A moment of silence, just long enough to make Curt wonder if he’d asked for too much. Was the Deadliest Man going to hang up? Was he angry? Was he going to take it out on Owen? Curt held his breath in spite of himself.

Then, he heard the sound of tape being ripped off of skin.

…..

The duct tape being ripped off of his mouth stung, but it barely registered over the pain still radiating from his wounds, or the new pounding in his head. Probably a concussion.

He gasped for air, though he had been breathing fine. His head fell down to his chest. He couldn’t quite catch his breath.

His captor--_ The Deadliest Man Alive, _he reminded himself, remembering what he’d overheard Curt say on the phone--pressed the receiver against the un-punched side of his face.

“Curt?”

His voice came out scratchy and quiet. He didn’t want to sound like this, knocked down and defeated. He didn’t want Curt to hear him like this.

But, God, he wanted to hear Curt’s voice.

“Owen! I’m here, I’m here. It’s gonna be okay.”

_ Curt. Curt. Curt. _

“_ Curt. _” He didn’t know what else to say. He just wanted Curt to keep talking. That voice was something real to hold onto. “What’s going on?”

After the slightest hesitation, he heard his love say, low and flat, “There are some things I haven’t been completely honest with you about.”

“Yeah. I’d figured out as much.” He meant to chuckle, but it came out dry and empty. Curt didn’t respond right away, so he said, “d’you mind enlightening me?”

“I. I work in intelligence. And, evidently, a certain criminal scumbag--”

“Careful, Mega.” The Deadliest Man was loud, and standing right over his shoulder, still holding the phone. Owen flinched away from the noise.

“--Sorry, your _ generous host, _ wants something from my agency. And he’s decided it’s in his best interest to mess with _ the best fucking spy in the nation _.” The way Curt spat the words out, Owen knew they weren’t for him, but for his captor.

“You never were one for modesty, were you, love?”

Owen hadn’t meant for it to come out like it did. But he supposed that, in his current circumstances, maybe it wasn’t the time for playful teasing. He knew he’d missed the mark when he heard a sharp intake of breath through the phone.

“Shit, Curt, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“_ No. _ Owen, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you got tangled up in this. If I had thought for _ one second _ that you were in danger, I would have done something, I would have kept you safe… and I swear that I’m going to do everything I can to get you home.”

Before Owen could find the words to portray his gratitude, or fear, or trust, he felt the phone pulled away from his ear. He instinctively tried to reach for it, for that lifeline, but the effort only aggravated a stab wound in his shoulder. Even if his hands weren’t still securely tied behind his back, he wondered if he would be able to fight his captor at all in this condition.

The Deadliest Man Alive had the phone to his own ear now. “Well, that was boring. Glad that’s over. Are you properly convinced that your little friend is alive now, Mega?”

Owen didn’t have the energy to follow what was being said. Curt’s voice was scratchy and distant now. And, besides, he was no longer relevant. Just the bait in some sick trap. Instead, he dropped his head down to his chest, closed his eyes, and tried to process.

Curt was a spy. Curt had been lying to him for their entire relationship. Curt had tried to protect him, and he’d failed.

But, even so, there was no one in the world Owen trusted more with his life. He didn’t feel safe--not by a long shot. He was in pain, and he felt helpless and terrified and completely drained of all energy and fight. But Curt knew he was gone, and he was on the mission. He had a shot in hell of making it out of this nightmare alive.

…..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, sorry this took so long. I would like to say it won't happen again, but, let's be honest, it probably will.
> 
> This chapter feels rougher than the other 2. Feel free to rip it to shreds if you'd like!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for: graphic descriptions of torture, homophobia/homophobic language. Summary in end notes if you would like to skip reading this chapter.

“Well,  _ that  _ was  _ boring _ . Glad that’s over. Are you properly convinced that your little friend is alive now, Mega?”

It took a good deal of restraint for Curt not to shout out,  _ NO,  _ as the Deadliest Man Alive’s brash voice replaced Owen’s broken one. He wanted to delay the inevitable, to keep talking to Owen, to be there for him. But he didn’t want to provoke this criminal any further.

“Fine. Owen’s alive. And he’d better stay that way, or I will  _ destroy you. _ Now, what do you want?”

“Well, Agent Mega. I presume you’ve heard of a certain organization called Chimera?”

He had. The international crime syndicate was highly mysterious, but Curt had encountered them before on several missions. They had successfully infiltrated the black market, both the United States and Soviet governments, and at least six high-level research universities. And that was just what the CIA knew about.

“You always struck me as more of an independent actor. So you’ve sold out to the hot new crime bosses in town, huh?”  _ Play it casual. Create the illusion of control. _

“Oh, I don’t care about their cause. But anyone can be bought for the right price. Regardless, all  _ you  _ need to know is that they want information. You have it. I have your little friend here. And, if I get that information from you, I get paid quite a sum.”

“You sick bastard. You’d torture an innocent man for money?”

The Deadliest man had the nerve to  _ laugh.  _ “I would torture an innocent man for  _ FREE! _ ” Curt could tell by the volume change in the voice on the other end at the phone that he had turned away from the receiver.  _ Probably looking at Owen. Probably thinking about hurting Owen.  _ “Have you ever held a knife to someone’s throat? Beat them within an inch of death? Listened to them beg for their life, just to keep... on...  _ going? _ God, the look in their eyes is the  _ best.  _ The paycheck’s just the icing on the cake.”

Curt’s foot tapped impatiently. He hated this, hated playing into this horrible man’s hand, but, as long as the Deadliest Man was talking, Owen wasn’t suffering any further damage.

“But don’t think you can get into my head, Mega. Time to get to business.” A tense pause. “I believe you have experience with the device commonly known as the Tucker Telephone?”

Curt flinched at the name, one he hadn’t heard in a long time. Moments flashed by in his head, back from when he first joined up as an agent.  _ Training. A damp, dark room. Handcuffs. Wires wrapped expertly around his skin. The echoes of his screams off the walls as his superior cranked a handle. Fiery, hot pain. _ He’d survived the training exercise, and he had managed not to give up any of the fake information he had been given and told to guard with his life. It had been his last test before being certified for field work, and he had passed. But, god, it was hell.

“Admittedly, that’s only an inspiration for the device I have here.” Curt heard the sound of a zipper, the rustling of cloth, and the clanking of metal. “This one doesn’t require a pesky crank. I upped the voltage, altered the connection points… those of my test subjects who survived gave it rave reviews. I asked one of them to rank their pain on a scale of 1 to 10, and the poor bloke said  _ sixty-seven. _ ”

Things were moving too fast. Curt had to find a way to get him to slow down. “Okay, wait. Let’s talk this out. Let me talk to my supervisors, see what they might be willing to give you--”

His begging was interrupted by a piercing scream. Doubtlessly Owen’s. 

“ _ What the hell?!? _ You haven’t even told me what you want yet!” 

“Oh, that was just preparation. That sound was simply our test subject’s reaction to my embedding the live wire into the pressure point between his shoulder blades. Putting the wire under the skin, instead of on it, allows for a faster, wider spread of the electricity through the body. Fascinating, don’t you think?”

“Slow down! Let’s talk. There’s no reason to hurt him--”

“I’m done waiting, Mega. We’re set up over here now. In a moment, I’m going to start shocking Owen. And I won’t stop until you give me what I need. Understood?”

“ _ Please,  _ just give me some time, don’t--”

Curt was interrupted once again by a blood-curdling scream.

…..

Owen wasn’t grasping much of the conversation happening right over his shoulder. It was probably the blood loss, making it hard to concentrate. Or the concussion. Or the tremendous weight of the fear gripping him and tearing him open from the inside out.

But there are some things even paralyzing fear can’t distract from. Like the pain of a knife crashing into his back.

The torture he’d endured so far had been nothing compared to this. His captor must have hit a major nerve or something, because the pain shot out from the point of impact, all down his back, his arms, his legs, his neck. It didn’t stop when the knife was removed, nor when something was shoved into the open wound.  _ A wire,  _ said a voice pushing through the haze in Owen’s head.  _ It must be a wire. Too thin for anything else. _

It would have taken all his energy and attention to push through the pain and form a coherent sentence. So he didn’t. He just sat there.

The Deadliest Man cut down the middle of his left shoe, and then ripped it off his foot, along with his sock. He didn’t break the skin this time; he just took another wire and wrapped it tightly around Owen’s big toe.

If Owen had been more mentally present, he likely would have realized where this was going. He might have anticipated the path of the electricity, up his leg, through his very core, just missing his heart on the way to the other wire. He might have braced himself against the shocks of the stray electricity that would travel down his limbs and along his skin. He might have pressed himself harder into the metal chair beneath him, trying to send as much of the electricity through it and to the ground as he could.

But his frazzled thoughts didn’t get that far. Not in time. 

He heard the hum of the machine starting up a fraction of a second before the wave of fire hit him like a freight train.

…..

_ “AAAAAAAAAAAAaAaAAAAGGGGgggGGGGGGHHHHhH!” _

…..

“The CIA has an agent undercover in Chimera. We know he exists. Tell me his cover name, his real name, and his current location.”

“I--I don’t know! I’m not on that case!”

“ _ Then find out. _ ”

“The CIA would never give me that information, it would get their agent killed, I can’t--please, something else, something I can tell you!”

“Find out, or I turn up the voltage.”

…..

“HELP! Hhhhhhhh…. Help m… HELP ME C-C-C-Currrrrrrrrrrr--”

…..

“ _ WHAT IS YOUR AGENT’S COVER?” _

“Anything else! PLEASE! I’ll give you anything! Just  _ STOP HURTING HIM!” _

…..

“ _ OWEN,  _ just hold on, please,  _ please,  _ hold on a little longer, you’re gonna be okay, I know it hurts, just…  _ please…” _

…..

“He won’t survive much more of this, Mega. I’m warning you. Get me what I need.”

“Owen, just hold on to my voice, come on, don’t go! Please! I can’t--I can’t do this without you!”

…..

“C-C-C…  _ CURT...Cu-Cu-C-C… Curt...HURTS--NOOOOOOO--AAAAAAAGH--” _

…..

“ _ OWEN! BABY! IT’S GONNA BE OKAY! OWEN, I LOVE YOU! I’M SO SORRY...I’m so sorry…  _ I’m so so sorry, I love you, please, baby, hold on, I love you so much…”

.

.

.

The whir stopped.

The machine went quiet.

Owen’s screams softened to uncontrolled whimpers and cries.

Curt’s breath caught in his throat as he waited for something to happen, trying to figure out why it had stopped, his pulse thundering in his ears.

The sudden sound of laughter. Quiet at first, then building. Loud, so loud, Curt didn’t understand--

“ _ FUCK CHIMERA!  _ FUCK THEIR MONEY! I don’t need them anymore! The  _ GREAT CURT MEGA _ is a  _ FUCKING QUEER!!!” _

.

.

.

Curt’s stomach dropped into his feet. His vision blurred.

“I’ve got all I need now, Mega. You’re  _ mine.  _ You’d better get to thinking about what you can give me in exchange for you and your boyfriend’s little secret. Make it good, or the  _ world  _ finds out.”

The phone line went dead.

Curt didn’t move.

…..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The Deadliest Man tells Curt that he's working for Chimera. He sets up a machine and begins electric shocking Owen. Curt doesn't have the information the DMA wants, and breaks down. In trying to comfort a suffering Owen, he accidentally reveals to the DMA that he and Owen are together. The DMA abandons Chimera, knowing that he can get much better than the money Chimera offered him now that he knows Curt's and Owen's secret.
> 
> ...
> 
> Yep, this chapter was draining to write. I hope it came across how I meant it to. Also... sorry.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for: homophobic slurs, internalized homophobia.

_ Come on. Do something. Owen needs you. Move your feet, goddamnit. You can’t just stand here forever. Jesus, you fucking coward, spies don’t cry, come on… _

“Curt?”

It was Tatiana, her voice scratchy through the receiver Curt had forgotten he was still holding up to his ear. He hadn’t even realized she had been listening in on the call. He should have thought about it, he had asked that she be put on the case...

_ How much did she hear? Does she know? Shit, she can’t know, she’s one of the only people I trust, I’ll lose her too... _

He hung up the phone.

“Curt… are you okay?”

He was startled a second time. He had really thought he was alone. Curt turned around, and there was Barb. He had no idea how long she had been standing there. He had been so focused on Owen…  _ oh god, Owen... _

Barb piped up again. “Oh, sorry, of course not, that was a stupid question. Sorry. I. Um.”

“Did you track the call?” 

Curt’s voice was thunderous in his own ears. It sounded harsh and raspy. He couldn’t find it in him to care.

“I’m so sorry, Curt, the signal had been redirected through several remote locations, and our trackers weren’t strong enough to follow it.” Barb was staring at her feet, and pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose every few moments.

Curt knew that this was where he was supposed to respond. He was supposed to be the lead on this mission. He was supposed to take action, to tell her what to do next, to come up with a plan B…

He didn’t. There wasn’t room in his mind right now for anything but panic and fear and overpowering guilt and the sounds of Owen’s cries and screams that wouldn’t leave him alone.

_ Barb knows. Tati knows. The CIA was probably listening in on the call too, so they know. The Deadliest Man Alive knows.  _

He could feel himself spiraling. 

_ I’ve ruined everything. Even if Owen wasn’t hurt, even if he makes it through this, I’ve ruined his reputation and his career and  _ my  _ career and he could get kicked out of the country and we could both be arrested and oh my god, what have I done… _

_ Even if he makes it out of this, Owen won’t ever want to see me again… _

_ Even if he makes it out of this, Owen’s going to hate me… _

_ Even if… _

“Curt?”

Curt looked up and met Barb’s eyes. He almost expected to see disgust in them. He didn’t. She wasn’t looking at him with any malice, just… sadness.

“Barb…” He wiped a tear off his cheek, even though he knew it was pointless. They kept coming. He couldn’t stop crying. “You definitely don’t owe me any favors. Hell, you’ve saved my life more times than I can count. But I’m going to ask you for one anyway.”

“Um. Okay.” She squinted at him. She looked uneasy. 

“Could you… forget any of this happened? At least until we get Owen back? Then, I’ll be fired, or arrested, or what have you, and you’ll never have to see me again. But.  _ Please. _ ” He heard his voice crack more than he felt it. “I… I need you. And Owen needs you. I know you don’t know him, but he’s a good person, and. He doesn’t deserve this.”  _ I don’t deserve him. I never did. _

Curt couldn’t tell what Barb was thinking. She’d always worn her emotions on her sleeve. Curt was used to being able to read her like an open book. 

But the look she was giving him didn’t seem like hatred, so that was something.

Barb broke the silence. “Yeah, I can do that.” 

She didn’t say anything else.

Curt nodded. “Could you try to find whatever information you can from the recording of that phone call? Location, identities… weapons used…”

“Sure. I’ll get right on that.”

She turned around and briskly walked out. Curt watched her go.

…..

Owen was in and out of consciousness. He would wake up, confused and in pain, and it would take him a bit to remember where he was and why. He would have just enough time to remember, and get hit with another wave of absolute terror, before passing out from the pain again.

He didn’t know how long it had been, or what time of day it was. At one point, he managed to convince himself that it had been months, and that Curt had abandoned him. At least twice, he decided that he had died, and that this was hell.

_ Well, I’ve been hearing all my life that people like me go to hell. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. _

At one point, he thought he heard the words “queer” and “faggot” coming from his captor. He figured he was probably hearing things, and staying awake to listen more closely would have taken a level of concentration he just couldn’t muster. So he fell back down into unconsciousness.

…..

Curt paced across the office, looking up occasionally to stare at the phone. 

He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

He felt like his world had ended.

But the world just kept spinning underneath him.

What was going to happen now? Was the Deadliest Man going to call the office phone with instructions? Demands? Was Curt supposed to call with an offer? What the hell do you offer a criminal psychopath in exchange for the love of your life?

He was so scared that he’d mess it up. The thought of Owen suffering more pain because of him…

The thought of Owen suffering pain,  _ period… _

Occasionally, Curt’s mind would drift to the secret he’d let loose, and the inevitable destruction it would bring.  _ Everyone _ was going to know. The CIA, the government, his  _ mom _ … 

Before meeting Owen, Curt always been ashamed of how he felt about men. He’d lie awake at night, thinking up worst-case-scenarios. His worst nightmares didn’t feature monsters or death; instead, they centered around getting found out, disowned, and outcasted.

But, with Owen, for the first time, his feelings were something to be celebrated. After all, if he could be loved by someone as wonderful as Owen, he couldn’t be that bad, could he?

But it had all come crashing down in a matter of a couple of hours. God, all the destruction he’d done with the words “I love you.”

He had a feeling that his nightmares were about to get worse. When he was younger, he never could have imagined anything more terrifying than being outed as gay. But the thought of Owen in pain, of Owen in danger, of Owen  _ dying _ … that was so much worse.

He knew thinking like this wasn’t useful or productive, and it wouldn’t help him get Owen back. But he couldn’t stop. He had stayed sane so far by hanging for dear life onto the hope of getting Owen back safely, but he just couldn’t hold on anymore. He was so scared. And he felt so guilty for being so scared, because Owen was going through so much worse. He needed to suck it up and figure something out, figure _anything_ out, but he just... couldn’t.

He needed Owen. 

How dare he need Owen, at a time like this?

He looked down at the bottom seam of his jacket, right underneath the right inner pocket. He felt around under the fabric, searching for the piece of paper, the secret, that he had so carefully sewn in there, months ago. 

There were some things so sacred that they needed to be stitched into place, hidden from the light of day. But what’s a secret worth once the world knows it?

He ripped the seam and pulled out the small piece of paper, waterproofed with clear tape and folded over on itself. He’d felt for it through the cloth of his jacket so many times, whenever he had needed a little encouragement on a mission. Just knowing it was there made him feel safer.

Owen stared back at him. The picture was a bit faded and wrinkled, but still doubtlessly Owen. This Owen was much younger than the one Curt knew--the photo had been taken back when he was in university--but his eyes were still exactly the same. Curt had always loved Owen’s eyes. 

Spies weren’t supposed to get scared. They were supposed to throw caution to the wind, and save the day, and do whatever it takes to get the job done. Curt had already broken that rule today. And he was scared now.

Not just because Owen was in danger, but because he knew what he had to do.

He picked up the phone and got ready to negotiate with the Deadliest Man Alive.

.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't quite sure where I wanted to go with this chapter, but I think I managed to do at least okay with it. First appearance of Tati and Barb--they'll be back later.
> 
> Apologies as always for putting our boys through so much crap. And please comment if you feel so inclined! I'm totally chill with criticism.


	6. Chapter 6

Barb was deep into an attempted triangulation based off incomplete data, trying to find Owen Carvour’s location, when the lab’s phone rang. The data was a mess, and it likely wasn’t solvable, but. She couldn’t just sit there and do nothing when Curt had asked her for help.

Barb involuntarily looked up for a fraction of a second in reaction to the phone ringing, which was enough for her to completely lose her place in the lines upon lines of code. Oh, well. I guess I’ll have to start over anyway--I might as well answer the phone.

She was tired and stressed, but she prided herself in always being able to put on a cheerful facade. She blinked hard a few times to wake herself up, put on a big smile (she had been taught that, even over the phone, you can tell if someone is smiling just by their voice), and said, “Hello! You’ve reached the Covert Sciences Laboratory. Can I help you reach someone?”

“Is this Barb?”

That was unusual. For one, people she didn’t know usually called her Barbara. More professional. For another, she usually worked in the chem lab. How did this person know she would be here? Not to mention that the voice was female. And foreign. Barb was used to being one of the only women in her division, and no one outside of the CIA should have this number.

“Um… yes, this is she. Who are you?”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Barb. I only wish it were under more favorable circumstances. I am Tatiana Slozhno. Curt has told me a lot about you.”

“Curt talks about me?” No, Barb, get your head out of the clouds! “I mean. Why’d you call? I’m a little busy right now…”

“Yes, I am sure you are. But I am worried about Curt, and I did not know who else to call. Director Houston told me that I would be able to reach you here.”

“...Oh. So. You know Cynthia then?”

“This is an urgent matter. I suggest that we save the small talk for another time.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“My point is that I worry about what… lengths Curt will go to to protect Owen. He might put himself in harm’s way. I am his friend, and I believe you are, too. So I am asking you to help me protect him if he… goes too far.”

This Tatiana girl was cryptic. And Barb wasn’t sure if she could trust her.

But she was right.

Barb hadn’t even thought about Curt’s safety in all of this. She’d been overwhelmed with processing data, and revelations, and her own feelings about it all.

Speaking of her own feelings… there was one question she needed to ask. If this mystery woman was Curt’s friend, maybe she would know. “So… Curt and Owen… they’re really--”

“Barb, I must remind you that you are speaking through a phone operated by the Central Intelligence Agency. Our conversation might be recorded, if it is not being actively monitored.”

“Right. Sorry. Again.”

Tatiana paused. Barb heard her take a deep breath. “But. Yes. What you were going to say… it is true. Curt… if you know him as well as I do, you will know that he would not risk his career or his reputation if this was something he did not truly care about.”

“Yeah. I guess… I guess it makes sense. And it clarifies some things. I always thought…” She stopped herself.

“Yes?”

Barb questioned whether or not she should be baring her soul over the phone to a total stranger like this, but. It had already been an exhausting day. There’s only so much you can hold in.  
“I always thought it was me. I thought there was something wrong with me, and that’s why he never… you know.”

“He cares about you, Barb. He may have a strange way of showing it, but he certainly cares.” Her voice was… soft. Comforting.

Barb started tear up a bit. And then she told herself that, no, she was Barbara Lavourner. She was the top female in the CIA’s labs. She had saved countless lives. She wasn’t going to break down crying. Not now.

But she did say, “Thanks. That means… that means a lot.”

“We can talk more at a later time, if you would like. I am about to send you an encoded message that contains the details of my location. Decipher it on a private computer. Do not tell anyone at the CIA where you are going. Yes?”

“Um. Sure.”

“If you want to help me help Curt, meet me there in two hours.”

Before Barb could even respond, Tatiana had hung up the phone. Oh. Okay… That didn’t feel like the end of a conversation, but that’s… fine, I guess. Moments later, a message popped up on her computer screen, pinging on the other side of the room.

Leaving work in a hurry like this wasn’t like her, but, well, she had already stayed late. Surely she wouldn’t get in any trouble for leaving work less late than usual. And, even if she did… this was for Curt.

Even if there wasn’t ever going to be anything between them, Curt was her friend. She had to help him. If she didn’t, and something happened to him? She’d never forgive herself.

She raced through the halls and to her car, and sped home, going 10 whole miles per hour over the speed limit, which was a pretty big deal for a rule follower like her. The moment she got home, she rushed to her computer and powered it up.

She had some decoding to do.

…..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Short chapter. I hope I got Barb and Tati at least close to right--I've never written them before.
> 
> As always, I love comments, whether they be positive or negative. And thanks for sticking with me this far, ha.


	7. Chapter 7

“Agent Mega. So nice of you to call.”

Curt’s blood boiled at the sound of his voice. He was tempted to hang up. Or throw the phone across the room. But that would mean bad things for Owen.

More bad things. Too many bad things. _ Owen... _

“I’m ready to get this done. I’m ready to make an offer I’m confident you won’t refuse. But I have to know Owen is still alive first.”  
“You’re not exactly in a position to be making demands right now, _lover boy_.”

_ Close your eyes. Deep breaths. Don’t snap. Do your job. _

“It’s not a demand. I’m not asking any _ favors. _ I’m confirming that you’re still capable of holding up your end of a bargain. _ Give Owen the goddamn phone. _”

“Hmm… I’m not sure if I should… _ maybe _ if you ask nicely.”

_ Just. Just do it. Do it for Owen. _ “...please_. _”

“Good boy, Agent.” Curt could _ hear _ the smirk in his voice.

That abhorrent fucking son of a bitch.

“You’d better not be lying about being ready to offer something worthwhile. Keep in mind that I still have your _ boyfriend _ . It would be _ so easy _to snap him like a twig.”

_ Please, just. Owen… Be okay. You’re almost through it, love. You’re so close. _

_ Please. _

…..

A strike to his ribs. He was woken up by the sound of his bones cracking. 

A gargled moan. It was supposed to be words, but. Too tired. Too hard to think over the pain.

His head started to lull to the side again. That got him a boot to the stomach.

“Wake up. Lover boy’s on the phone. You’re wasting my time.”

_ Pain. No. Too much. Lover boy? Who’s lover boy? Lover boy… _

He felt the phone as the Deadliest Man pressed it up against his face.

“Owen? Are you there?”

“Currrrrrr— Cur—”

“Owen, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay—”

“_ No. _ Can’t. Too much…”

He couldn’t form his thoughts into sentences. He was trying. _ God, _he was trying. He knew Curt wouldn’t be here for long.

_ Here? Where’s here… not here… he’s not _here…

“I know, love, I know… You’ve gotta hold on. Just a little while longer. You’re gonna get out of there. I’m gonna get you out of there. He won’t be able to hurt you anymore.”

“I’m--I’m sorry… I _ can’t _ … I…” _ I can’t hold on much longer. I’m not going to make it out of here. I’m not going to be able to hold you again. I can’t form the words… Curt… _

“Owen… why--you’re _ dying _ and you’re apologizing to _ me _ … No. No, you’re _ not _ dying, I’m going to get you out of there and you’re going to be okay.”

“Okay… miss _ okay _… miss you... “

“I miss you too. Listen, Owen, he’s probably gonna take the phone in a second here, so, before he does… I love you. I love you so much.”

“Love--love you. Too.”

He’d gotten to say it. At least, before he died, he got to tell Curt he loved him one last time.

He could feel it coming. He would try to hang on--Curt had asked him to hang on--but he wasn’t going to kid himself. So much pain… he couldn’t even categorize all the injuries anymore. They faded into each other. Sharp and pounding and burning and aching all at once.

People don’t just _ survive _ this kind of thing.

“God, Owen… I don’t deserve that from you. But thank you.”

“Love you. G...g... G’bye.”

And, just like that, he was alone again. The phone was gone. Just him and the devil and the pain.

…..

_ Goodbye, love. _

Fuck. Curt was crying again. He hadn’t even noticed.

He was never gonna see Owen again.

_ Fuck. _

But it was gonna be worth it. He had training Owen didn’t. He had leverage Owen didn’t. 

“Time’s up, Mega. You’d better start talking.”

“Owen… He can’t take much more. If he doesn’t make it, any deal we make is off.”

“Whether Owen ‘makes it’ is up to _ you. _ You fuck me over, he gets hurt. So you’d better not have been bluffing about having something worthwhile to offer me. You’re right that he _ can’t take much more. _”

_ Deep breath. Just say it. Just get it over with. _

“Mega?”

_ Stop being _ scared. _ This is something you have to do for Owen. You’re running out of time. They’re just words… say the words… _

“You’re in no position to play games now, Agent Mega. Get talking or Owen gets it.”

_ Owen… I love you… _

“I’m not playing games.”

“Then _ spit it out. _”

“Fine. You want something _ worthwhile? _ I’m right here. Agent Curt Mega, complete with CIA training and secrets that would blow your _ fucking mind _ . I won’t give them up easily, but… I’ll go willingly into whatever fucked up basement torture chamber you have set up in exchange for Owen’s release and safety. That a sweet enough deal for you, _ Mr. Deadliest Man Alive _?”

It was done. He was done. With those five little sentences, he sealed his fate. Agent Curt Mega was going to die.

It was worth it.

….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been building up to this one for a while. Hope y'all like it because I lowkey shattered my own heart writing it. As always, any and all comments appreciated, and thanks for reading.


	8. Chapter 8

There’s nothing quite like negotiating one’s own life away.

This job had taught Curt to force himself to see people not as people, but as chess pieces. Sometimes, a piece or two needs to be sacrificed for the behalf of the greater good, whatever that happened to be. The country, the safety of the people, the defeat of the USSR… the endgame changed, but the game itself never did.

That’s a whole lot harder when you’re the pawn stepping into the path of the bishop.

But, he reminded himself, none of this would be worth it if Owen didn’t make it home safely. He had already sealed his fate. He was going to die. And it was going to  _ hurt.  _ He had to make it worth it. He had to protect Owen. It was hard, because the Deadliest Man had the upper hand in so many ways--he had the secrets, the power, the control--but Curt had played this game many times before.

Before long, they had a deal. A set of conditions, a timeline, a procedure. Curt was uneasy about just how sure he could be that the Deadliest Man would stick to his side of the bargain, but. It was the best he could do.

Even if he managed to do everything right, he put the odds of Owen getting out of this alive and safe at about 70%.

_ Focus on the numbers, the logistics, the data, the probabilities. God, Owen was always better with this kind of thing… data collection and whatnot… always analyzing, always studying… My brilliant professor, my love… _

_ Well. Not mine anymore, I suppose. Even if I’ll always be his... _

_ \--No. Can’t be sentimental. Not until the job’s done. _

Owen would be gagged, bound, hooded, and dropped off at a remote location. Curt was to meet an unmarked car at a different location, not far from CIA headquarters. He was allowed to keep a weapon on him, but he would be patted down for trackers and communicators.

One of the Deadliest Man’s henchmen would have a gun to Owen’s head. If the car was followed, Owen would be shot. If Curt tried anything, Owen would be shot. 

Curt would be driven to the Deadliest Man’s location and escorted to the basement. Once there, he would get to hear Owen’s voice one last time, to confirm that he was still alive.

And then he would give up his gun.

Owen’s coordinates would be sent to Tatiana Sloznho, via an encrypted message to her tracker. Curt didn’t trust anyone more with Owen’s safety.

When Curt hung up the phone, a countdown would start. He would have 30 minutes to get to the rendezvous point. The Deadliest Man made it clear that, if he was not there, Owen would be shot.

All of this still felt like a horrible dream. 

He just hoped that he had done enough, been careful enough, for all of this to be worth it.

…..

_ What… no… what’s going on… _

Owen couldn’t be sure if he was hallucinating, or dreaming, or if he was actually being untied from his chair. He felt rough hands cutting at the ropes. He heard voices.  _ Multiple voices. _ His captor had been the only person in the room thus far.

Something was happening.

Which probably meant that he was about to get taken out back and shot like a dog.

_ Maybe they’ll be quick about it… no more pain, at least. _

He opened his eyes, only to find that he had been blindfolded--no, he felt fabric against his cheeks as well. This was a full-on canvas hood, tied down around his neck.

A few more moments, and he had registered that his mouth was taped shut as well.

Two pairs of hands on him, untying, retying.  _ Fuck,  _ it hurt. Every wound aggravated by every movement; his joints crying out having been held in one position for… well, probably something close to a full day now. Somewhere in the haze of his subconscious, a voice was telling him,  _ this is your chance. Fight back. Your hands won’t be free for long.  _

He didn’t fight back.

Broken bones grinded against each other as they began to drag him out of the room, down what must have been a hallway, and then into an elevator. The sound of a door opening. The feel of a breeze, of the warmth of the sun on his skin…

He’d thought he’d never feel the sun again. Probably still wasn’t ever going to see it.

God… he’d thought he had come to terms with this. He thought he had accepted the fact that he was going to die. But now that it was staring him in the face, he was fucking  _ terrified.  _ He’d never been particularly religious, but, even still, he considered desperately calling out to whatever higher being might or might not be listening.

He decided instead to grasp to something more concrete.

_ Curt… I know you can’t hear me. Even in this… haze of blood loss and pain… I know I’m being irrational, but.  _ Fuck. _ I’m scared. I’m scared to die, love. I think that, if… if, maybe, I had never met you, then… this might be easier. When I fell in love with you, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you… I never thought that that life would be so short. I need more time… more time to spend with you, in our home… the home we pretend is just yours. You’re worth the fear, worth sneaking around for. Worth it a thousand times over. Hell, you’re probably worth  _ this. _ Even knowing that doesn’t make it any easier. _

Owen vaguely took note of the fact that he was in a car now. It started up, every bump in the road jostling him in the back seat, causing another wave of pain.

_ Don’t know how I’m still conscious right now… God, Curt, it  _ hurts _ … I hope you never have to feel pain like this… _

_ I know that it’s almost certainly too late now. But. Curt… love…  _ please… _ I don’t want to die. If you can hear me… if you can find a way… I want to keep spending my life with you, love…  _

_ I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I’m not  _ ready _ , I don’t want to… _

The car stopped. Hands under his arms, pulling him out. His feet stumbled as he was half-dragged along the ground.

_ Don’t want to die…  _ Fuck… _ I’m sorry Curt, I tried to hold on, I tried, I’m sorry… I love you and I’m sorry and I love you… _

Owen felt a sudden shove against his back. He fell face-first to the ground. He didn’t even have time to register the pain before he fell unconscious once again.

…..

Curt strode through the hallways of CIA headquarters, as quickly as he could without drawing unwanted attention to himself.

It would take him around 15 minutes to get to the rendezvous point by car if he drove the speed limit--he wasn’t going to risk getting pulled over by speeding. He doubted the Deadliest Man would take any excuses for his being late.

That gave him 15 minutes to get out of here. And he had to be careful. After all, he was ‘property of the United States government…’

Technically, he wasn’t his own to give away. The CIA wouldn’t want to risk the secrets he held getting into the wrong hands. They might try to stop him.

Curt made a beeline for the labs. With these precious last few minutes of freedom… he owed Barb a thank you. And an apology.

He pushed through the thick lab door, but she wasn’t in the room--a kind of half-lab, half-office that she had unofficially claimed as her own. He cursed under his breath--he didn’t have much time to search the rest of the building for her. He had to  _ go.  _ Soon.

He owed her more than a note, but… this would have to do. Curt grabbed a pen and paper and scribbled his thoughts out, checking his watch every few moments as the seconds ticked away. No time to proofread… hopefully his messy handwriting would be legible. Hopefully Barb would be able to understand the sincerity and depth of his gratitude for all she had done. Not just today, but for  _ years, _ watching out for him, making him gadgets, tolerating his rude comments and dismissive attitude.

He folded the paper in half, and scrawled  _ Barb Lavernour  _ on the front. He tucked it carefully under one corner of her computer’s keyboard, over on her desk, where she would be sure to see it the next time she came in.

Deep breath. 20 minutes to get to the rendezvous point.  _ Go, go, go. _

Out of the building, then a dead sprint to his car… he ripped off his tracker watch and threw it into a bush a ways away.  _ No need for that anymore.  _

Into the car, onto the highway. One eye on the road, the other on the clock. The minutes were moving fast, but so was he.

He reached the agreed-upon coordinates 2.5 minutes before the deadline. The location was intentionally remote, and he didn’t see any other signs of life. For a moment, he panicked, questioning if he had come to the right place, if he had fucked up…

But then a black car appeared in the distance. 

Within a minute, it had pulled up alongside him.

He felt like he was observing the scene from afar, watching as he and the other man-- his  _ handler-- _ climbed out of the car. Watching as Curt followed the instructions of the henchman, placed his hands against the sleek black vehicle. Watching as the man roughly patted him down for trackers.

He would have gotten into the backseat voluntarily, but the henchman insisted on grabbing his arm and shoving him in himself. Curt felt himself instinctively reach for the gun still in his pocket as he heard the doors lock.

His handler tapped at his watch, then muttered a few code words into it. Curt prayed they were the ones that signalled his cooperation and ensured Owen’s safety.

…..

It was all happening so fast.

Before he could process any of this, the car had pulled up to some old warehouse on the edge of town. He had been escorted at gunpoint in through the door, along a hallway, into an elevator, down to the basement.

The Deadliest Man Alive sat in a chair in the center of the largely empty room, twirling a serrated knife on his finger.

Curt flinched as he heard the door slam behind him. He drew his gun.

“Go ahead, Mega.  _ Shoot me.  _ The second the shot goes off, the sound will be heard through that telephone on the table, and my associate will send a bullet through your  _ boyfriend’s  _ brain stem.”

“I’ll put it down when you’ve held up your end of the deal. I need to hear Owen.”

“Fine.” He got up out of the chair and meandered over to the phone. “Ask him a question.”  
“...what?”

“A  _ question _ . Something only he would know the answer to.”

“Uh. Yeah. Okay.” He thought about it for a moment. “Ask him what we call the cat that likes to hang out in our front yard.”

The Deadliest man rolled his eyes, but repeated the question into the phone.

“Come, Mega. Take the phone.”

He was talking to him like a goddamn dog. It would be  _ so easy _ to shoot him between the eyes right now. But he  _ couldn’t. _

Curt walked over, slowly, flinching at the echo of his own shoes hitting the concrete floor.

The Deadliest Man offered him the phone. “ _ Don’t say a word,  _ Mega.”

Curt took it and held it to his ear. He heard some commotion, then a voice he didn’t recognize.

“ _ Wake up _ , lover boy.”

A little whimper of pain from Owen.

“What--what do you call the cat that ‘likes to hang out’ in your front yard?”

Curt heard Owen make another small whining noise.

“Answer the fucking question, Carvour.”

Curt held his breath. Nothing… nothing… then…

“Agent.”

Curt let out a held breath. He closed his eyes and nodded. His captor took the phone from his hand.

“Hand me the gun, on safety, pointed toward the right wall.” There was a sickening smirk on his face.

Curt cooperated, hand shaking as he let the Deadliest Man Alive take his only remaining weapon.

“Good boy.” He motioned toward the chair in the middle of the room, signaling for Curt to sit down in it.

This clearly wasn’t the man’s first time tying a captive. He moved quickly and efficiently, securing Curt to the chair with tight, complex knots, limb by limb. Taking away his freedom one rope at a time.

But Curt wasn’t thinking about that. Instead, he was remembering that morning with Owen. 

They had had coinciding days off of work for once, so they were sitting at the breakfast table in the late morning, looking out the window at a bright red cardinal perched on their mailbox.

A flurry of bright orange had dashed across the green grass. Curt would have assumed he had imagined it if Owen hadn’t commented.

_ “Did you see that? I think that’s the same kitten I noticed out there the other day. Must be a stray.” _

_ “Yeah, I did. Sneaky little guy.” _

_ “Like a covert operative or something… ‘Target: cardinal on the mailbox. Use deadly force if need be.’” _

Curt had panicked a bit at Owen’s bringing up spies, but, looking over at him, leaning against the table, coffee in hand… he was clearly joking around. Curt relaxed.

_ “Are you accusing that stray kitten of working for the Russians, love?” _

_ “Heh. ‘Special Agent Fluff,’ deep in enemy territory.” _

_ “Agent Moscow. The USSR gets a good deal for him--he asks to be paid only in catnip and head scratches.” _

Owen had been the one to start putting food out for Agent. The cat would never come inside, but, sometimes, Curt and Owen would both watch him through the window and crack jokes as he would slink around, stealthily nibbling from the bowl, eyes scanning the yard.

Curt hoped that Agent would be okay, now that he was gone… Owen probably wouldn’t be able to keep the house…

Behind him, Curt heard the Deadliest man say into the telephone, “Mega is secured. Send the coordinates and get out.”

That was as sure as Curt would ever be that Owen would make it out of this. He made the decision to shove down any doubt that these men had held up their end of the deal, for the sake of his own sanity.

He would die confident that Owen was okay.

…..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. That one's a doozy. Almost 3 times the length of last chapter. I've been working toward 10,000 words total for quite a while now, and I just blew right the heck past it.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me and, as always, feedback is always appreciated. Hopefully I can get the next chapter out with a quicker turnaround--it should be shorter!


	9. Chapter 9

Heat. Heat as sunlight pounding at the exposed skin on his arms and legs. Heat rising up from the gravel that poked at his flesh. Heat radiating from various knife wounds, probably infected by now.

He didn’t dare move. He didn’t dare make a sound.

Someone said something. He heard it, but didn’t process it. He heard himself respond, “Agent.” He decided not to waste energy wondering if he had responded correctly.

_ Time to die now? No? Okay. A little longer, then. _

Heat heat heat heat heat. Hot. Hot and hurting. Hellish. Can’t move, can’t see… _ can _breathe, but barely… probably not for much longer…

Footsteps. Footsteps walking away. The sound of a car in the distance.

Everything was heat and pain. Heat and pain when he was awake, heat and pain when he was unconscious. It became hard to tell the difference. 

Moments were days, days were minutes, minutes were hours.

…..

The room was dark and cold, and the Deadliest Man Alive’s voice echoed off the concrete walls and floor.

“God, Mega… there are so many different ways I could go about this…” He walked in slow circles around Curt, who was eerily still in the chair, eyes closed, jaw set.

_ He’s creating an atmosphere of fear… don’t let it get to you. Breathe in, breathe out. _

“So many secrets to go after, so many ways to break you down…” A sinister chuckle. “I’ll say, I _ did _ have fun with your little boyfriend, but. _ This _ is something special.”

The Deadliest Man paused and revelled in the silence. The only sounds were the _ click _of his shoes against the floor and his captive’s quickened breathing.

“Oh? Giving me the _ silent treatment, _ Mega? Well, that’s fine. Save your voice for screaming.”

He took a step toward Curt, and ran one finger down the side of his face. Just because he could. Just to watch him flinch away.

“Now, I considered giving you the same treatment that I gave our friend Professor Carvour. The same injuries, in the same places… same order and everything. Let you_ feel exactly _the pain he was in. Still is, I suppose, if he’s still alive…”

That got a reaction from Curt. He still didn’t speak, but he jerked his head to look the Deadliest Man Alive straight-on to give him the most intense glare he could muster. Despite his best efforts, though, the terror he was feeling showed on his face.

“Oh, relax, Agent, I didn’t _ kill _ him. Your people should be headed to his coordinates to pick him up as we speak. I _ am _ a man of my word.” He leaned in closer to Curt’s face. “But he was sporting some pretty intense injuries… and some of those knife wounds were looking _ angry _. It’s not my fault if the blood loss or infection gets to him before the CIA does.”

“_ Fuck you. _”

“He _ SPEAKS! _” He laughed in a way that can only be described as maniacal. “Hit a nerve there, didn’t I? Well.”

He placed one finger under Curt’s chin and lifted his head to look him right in the eyes. Curt responded by shutting his eyes tight.

“Regardless. That’s not the plan I’m going to follow. Because why limit myself with all that structure and poetic revenge when I can just… _ go to town _ on one of the best spies the world’s ever seen? Show you some _ real _ pain, eh? Have some _ fun. _”

Curt wanted _ out. _ This isn’t how he wanted to die. He _ hated _ everything about this, hated the scratchy rope holding his limbs down, hated the chair, hated the room, hated the hopelessness, hated this man more than he’d ever hated _ anything. _ He could feel tears welling up in his eyes, but he couldn’t afford to show that weakness. He’d just have to keep them closed.

The Deadliest Man turned his back to Curt, and took a few steps away. He bent down to grab his bag of tools.

“Let’s see what you’ve got, shall we?”

…..

Elliot squinted against the glaring sunlight, scanning the side of the road, then looking back at the map he had unfolded on his lap.

_ We should be there any minute now... _

He hadn’t been told who this man was that they were retrieving, or why. All he knew were the coordinates, and that the man would be bound and blindfolded and likely in critical condition. And also that there was a chance that he wouldn’t be there at all.

It was a quiet, hilly area just outside of the city. Lots of places to stash a body.

His partner at the agency was in the driver’s seat. The two had decent raport, and would usually chat about the weather or sports scores or bad jokes on drives like this, but not today. Today, there was an unfamiliar tension in the air.

They led a line of other cars, some of which were carrying medics, as well as an ambulance.

“We’re about there. Might as well pull over here and start looking.”

They climbed out of the car, as did the search party of 15 or so agents and medics. _ This guy must be important. _ Elliot picked a path through the hills and started walking.

The search stretched on in the hot sun for 15 minutes or so, and Elliot found himself wondering what had happened to this guy, formulating imaginary plots and scenarios that could have led him here, tied up and hidden by the road.

Then he was jerked out of his head by a call by someone to the left of him. “Found him! Medics, get over here! Get the ambulance ready!”

And, sure, Elliot wasn’t a medic, but he _ was _curious. So, of course, he took off running.

He only caught a glimpse of the man as he was being carried off to the ambulance on a stretcher, surrounded by people saying things like “weak pulse, but unresponsive” and “severe blood loss and infection.”

But that one glance was enough to fuck him up pretty bad.

He had seen some battered and bruised bodies since joining up a year or so ago, but this man… this was different. Streaks of red criss-crossing across his exposed arms, legs, and torso. Bruises on his face, his back, _ everywhere. _ Sweat and dirt and oozing, _ deep _ wounds. And the juxtaposition of the reds and purples against his pale, pale skin…

Elliot staggered back to the car as the medics rushed the patient to the ambulance. He barely registered the sirens blaring as it took off toward the nearest hospital. He felt like he might be sick.

He tried to sleep in the car on the drive back. No point in staying awake; neither he nor his partner felt at all like talking. But, every time he closed his eyes, he saw that image in his head. What he’d seen with that one glance was burned into his mind.

He decided that, when he got to the office, he would request to be kept informed about the man’s condition. Then, he would ask for the rest of the day off, go home, and drink a bordering-on-unreasonable amount of gin.

.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a filler chapter, and, again, so sorry for taking so long. Life is hectic as hell at the moment. The next one should be a big one, so stay tuned!


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